Tremulous fingers press against a mirror, lips parted, wondering why everything around you looks so stationary when you can feel the earth cracking under your feet. Wondering why everything is sitting still when you know the ground is shaking, breaking, and crumbling apart.
Alice in the Rabbit hole.
Falling, falling, and you feel it,
but nothing else is moving.
And only in your mind.
It's not the world that's shattering. It's your life.
Piece by piece. Chunk by chunk. The fall is not so long as it seems, it is just that so many bits of you are breaking off, that even though you feel the impact of one, you're still feeling that gut wrenching sensation of the rest. Never ending, no matter how many times you splatter.
Shards of your heart tink-tink-tinkling to the ground like glass - like slowly falling rain, the drops of it uneven, punctuated by moments of sheer...emptiness.
Fragments of your soul, roiling, rotting, dripping like acid, searing a trail of corrosion as it carves lazy paths down your skin. Every trickle of it marks you like a map of where you've been, turning unmarred consciousness to a battle worn and ugly grand canyon in your mind.
And parts of you. You. Your mind. Your sanity. Like a great weather-worn monument, its grandiose structure turned brittle by the cruel hands of time and disrepair and sheer neglect.
The slightest gust of wind makes inches strip as if it were just coatings of paper, baked under the sun, flickering away. Falling, flying. Falling. Flying.
You feel every part as it goes. You stay with every speck as it goes, and yet still stay trapped in you. A sensation that never ends - being so scattered and yet so stuck. Flying so free, and yet being so trapped.
Every smash to the unrelenting ground is felt, serving to emphasize the knowledge that you're not done breaking yet.
You're not dust.
You're not dead.
And even dust can be scattered by the wind.
Will you be trapped by your fragments even then? Like some horror movie scene? Trapped by who you are? By who you are becoming? By everything you fear?
Forever flying and falling....brushed off bookshelves by oblivious mothers?
You are rendered silent in your slow degradation,
but when you are nothing but soot, will you finally have the will to scream, only to find that mites have no voice?
Fingers dig into the mirror. Every part that falls is too small to be seen, and yet...you try. Search for it. In the mounds of hated flesh that can be seen, and the imperfections it symbolizes underneath.
The lack of control.
The flaws in your personality.
You know...you know its breaking.
You know you're breaking.
Will you continue to shatter?
Or will you gather the pieces?
Can we ever stop the effects of aging and weather?
Are we doomed to become nothing but dust?
Will I ever get the courage needed to scream?
Will it ever feel okay to breathe again?
Black palm trees sway, they whisper to the purple sky
Close your eyes and feel the ghosts of Hollywood gone by
Still the dreamers come, still the dreams are left to die
Behind the lights a necropolis lies
-Tiger Army, "Atomic"